I don’t know about you, but growing up I had an idealized view of motherhood. My mom was basically Wonder Woman when it came to raising us kids and I’m sure she earned her sainthood after what we put her through. My sister was rebellious, I was the stereotypical middle child, and my little brother was the spoiled youngest child and also a rough and tumble little boy. We sure put her through the wringer. She always put on a brave face and seemed like she had it all together. She made home-cooked meals almost every night and she made sure we got to all of our after-school activities, soccer practice, dance classes, and even church EVERY Sunday despite all of our complaining about it being boring and my brother and sister making us late all the time. She wasn’t perfect, she was notorious for being at least thirty minutes late for everything, she yelled and sometimes couldn’t control her temper, but she always loved us and everyone knew it. She tried her hardest to keep her family going while my father worked long hours and night shifts at the local prison.
I remember being a child and not understanding why my mom seemed to be so frustrated all the time. Now being a mom, I get it. I get the frustration, anger, guilt, and all of the emotions that come with parenthood. My mom practically raised us herself so I can only imagine how heightened those emotions were for her. I’m blessed to have a husband and partner who takes a very active role in his child’s life. It can lead to some tension, however, when we’re both exhausted and our son is testing our patience, especially because he’s too young to realize how worn out his parents are. We aren’t perfect and end up redirecting those emotions at each other instead of at our son. We bicker and fight and argue with one another until one of us realizes we just need a few minutes apart to compose ourselves to have a constructive conversation.
It’s messy. Being a parent is hard work. It’s not what I thought it was going to be. I thought I would always be happy with my child, I would never yell, and my child would be this perfect angel because I would love them so hard. Jokes on me because parenthood is not this idealistic fantasy I had created in my mind as a child, a teen, a young adult, and even while I was pregnant with Seamus. My emotions are all over the place. I love my son more than I ever thought I could, but I find it’s so easy to get frustrated after a night of poor sleep or when he’s getting into something he shouldn’t for what feels like the hundredth time that day. When I try to start showing him good manners and then he laughs at his fart or paints the floor with his spit up or food.
I can’t count the number of times I’ve vented to my manager at work that I feel like I’m failing or that I’m worried I’m not doing enough for my son. Then she shares her experiences in parenting and consoles me about the hard times. That camaraderie is vital. Parenting is hard, being a mom is harder. It’s so easy to become isolated and fall into a rut of self-depreciation and guilt. Having solid “mom friends” to help you survive and even thrive as a new parent or even a seasoned parent who’s struggling is crucial for your mental sanity. For several months, it was Seamus and I at home while I was also working full-time hours and my husband was working outside of the home. We had just moved to a new state for the third time in the last year and barely knew anyone in the area. I was isolated and to be quite frank, not great at making friends or even talking to new people. I’m still working on the making friends part and not being too awkward from the get-go, but I’ve found some women that I see regularly who save my sanity whether they realize it or not. The ones who tell me I’m doing a great job or the ones who relate to me when I say I have all of one brain cell working in my favor. The ones who empathize when my husband gets sick and I basically have two children to care for.
I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, I’m not in the slightest and I am so blessed with all that I have in life and I love my guys to no end. This postpartum period is just like none other and nothing could’ve prepared me for it. I had fairly severe anxiety when my son was first born and I would wake up what felt like every thirty minutes in a panic thinking he’d fallen onto the floor, stopped breathing, etc. until I looked in his bassinet and there he was peacefully sleeping. My anxiety eventually eased, but the mood swings still get me, especially around my period. Not only am I changing so much personally with hormones, mental shifts, physically with my body, emotionally, and psychologically, but babies grow up so fast that the change is a challenge in and of itself. Looking back, I feel like I blinked and missed the newborn phase. I know I likely blocked it out, but I miss it. I miss the scrunch, the tiny fingers and toes, the involuntary faces, and the adorable noises. Now my son is walking and recently turned a year old and I don’t know where the time went. I do remember saying to myself shortly after he was born that I was so overwhelmed and I didn’t know what I was doing and I was shocked that the hospital let someone so young just walk out with a baby. Mind you I was 22 and it was my child that I’d just birthed, but I was stunned nonetheless. I felt so scared that I’d do something wrong or that I’d accidentally hurt him somehow, that he was this fragile little creature. Well, let me just say babies are a lot tougher than they seem and you do get the hang of motherhood. Not everything comes naturally either. If I had a quarter for the number of times I texted other moms or consulted Google or even turned to Facebook mom groups, I could buy myself a REALLY nice spa day to relax from the stress. I’m sure by the time my son is 18 and graduating high school, I’ll be able to go on an extravagant vacation with all of those quarters.
I suppose the point I’m trying to make with all of this is to find your village. Get together that group of women who uplift your spirit, who make you feel seen, who tell you you’re doing great, who share in the hard moments, and who pick you up and dust you off when you faceplant in the dirt because we all will at some point. Even if you never see these women and you only talk on Facebook. Make those women your tribe and raise those babies with everything you’ve got. Remember, even Mary, the mother of Jesus, wasn’t perfect. You’ve got this, mama.
